The Secrets That We Keep
by The Dragon You Must Not Tickle
Summary: No one can keep a secret forever. So. What's Yours? WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, physical abuse, depression, swearing, schizophrenia, suicidal thoughts, self harm, drug abuse, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, pregnancy and insomnia


**Disclaimer: OF COURSE I OWN HARRY POTTER! HOW DARE YOU ASK ME THAT! I've got all of them locked in my basement right at this moment. MWAHAHAHA!**

**Warning: Mentions of rape, physical abuse, depression, occasional swearing (that might mean a lot in your talk), schizophrenia, suicidal thoughts, self harm, drug abuse and addiction, eating disorders, alcohol abuse and addiction, pregnancy and insomnia.  
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**Authors Note: HI PEOPLE!** **This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction EVER. So be nice on me. But constructive criticism ****is accepted. Please review...I'll give you cookies. This has no specific time line really. I guess this could be around their 5th year. Depends how you want to see it. REVIEWS CHEESE! (God, I sound like a 5 year old.)  
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><p><em>"Tell me what you want to hear,<em>  
><em>Something that will light those ears,<em>  
><em>I'm sick of all the insincere,<em>  
><em>So I'm gonna give all my secrets away."<em>

_Secrets - One Republic_

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><p><strong>Harry Potter<strong>

The-Boy-Who-Lived**. **The Golden Boy. The Chosen One. That's me. Sadly.

I don't get why people think I'm glad to be called that. I hate it. I want to be a normal typical teenage wizard (Like there's anything even slightly normal about that).

I don't want have the weight of the Wizarding World on my shoulders.

I don't want to feel pressured to be brave and couragous like a true Griffindor.

I don't want to be the Wizarding World's savior in the making.

I don't want to feel like I can't talk to anyone about my problems because they'll just say there's more important things that I should be worrying about.

I don't want to have to go sit on the ledge of the astronomy tower and try to persuade my self not to jump, again.

I don't want to look at every single thing and try to stop myself from thinking of it as a tool to kill myself with.

I don't want to look at my wand and think of doing THAT spell on myself.

I need another story. I don't JUST want to be the famous Harry Potter. I have something to get off my chest. No one gets it.

I don't want to be The-Boy-Who-**LIVED**.

**Ron Weasley**

My life gets kind of boring. Being compared to your best friends all of the time, never living up to the standards that have been set to you by your brothers, being the third wheel all the time, being the ginger one that is of no importance to anyone and all that shit**. **

Need something that I can confess. And that's where IT comes in. I can't remember the exact date and the place where I started. That's good because that's the reason I started anyway. It was just a random muggle bar in a random muggle city. I just wanted to forget. Forget about everything and everyone. All the pain, all the people, all the judgments that they made, all the deaths, all the things caused by You-Know-Who.

You're probably wondering how I'm even allowed to buy it without an ID (Or whatever those muggles call it). Let's just say, having brothers like Fred and George actually comes in handy sometimes.

And that's how I ended up like this. Staggering my way home to The Burrow. Just another random **DRUNK** on the corner of the street to lonelyness.

**Draco Malfoy**

I watch the red liquid fall from the cut on my arm. Where the dark mark will most likely be soon enough. Watch it drop into the sink below. All my sleeves are stained red. From all the truth that I've said. Or haven't would have been more appropriate.

I don't feel the warmth and the pleasure that people described to me before I started doing this. I just feel the numbness. It feels cold. Like millions of tiny ice crystals piercing my skin. But I like it. The coldness blocks out all the pain and the memories.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm not suicidal, it just helps me cope. I wouldn't blame you if you thought I was though. I'm misunderstood about a lot of things.

I'm not evil.

I'm not mean.

I'm not cocky.

I'm not arrogant.

I don't hate every single person that isn't in Slytherin.

I don't like to call people mudbloods.

I don't worship the Dark Lord (I'm forced to do that, actually).

I don't look up to my dad as my hero.

I'm not proud of my surname.

I'm not as confident as everyone thinks I am.

All that's just a cover.

I'm just plain old Draco Malfoy. A **CUT** in the delicate balance of the world.

**Hermione Granger**

I cry. I let the teardrops fall into toilet, ready to be flushed away with contents of my now empty stomach. I wipe the tears from my face with my sleeve. I've been on the brink the past few months (still am).

I just feel like breaking down, like, all the time, you know? I can't though. I'm not allowed 'll just cause even more stress for the people around me and I can't do that to wouldn't be fair.

Come on, Hermione. Be strong. Just a few more times and you'll be down to the right dress size. You'll be just like all the other beautiful and skinny girls.

The boys will finally talk to you. Not just so they would be able to cheat on their next test or to have help with their potions assignment, but actually want to talk to you.

You won't just be the smart girl everyone cheats off in exams. You won't just be the ugly mudblood that's friends with The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Fucking-Die and the Weasel.

You'll be able to wear all the latest clothes everyone else is wearing. You'll be able to start eating properly again. You'll be beautiful.

You'll finally be in **CONTROL** of something in your life. You'll be perfect.

**George Weasley**

Merlin. Amazing that I got this far. Without anyone noticing (or me dying). I mean, I thought it would be obvious by now.

Don't they notice that I disappear for days, saying that I'm staying over at Lee's house, only to come back looking like I had been living on the streets for the past few years? (I really should thank him more often for that,)

Don't they notice the scars that just magically "appear" on my arm?

Don't they notice that my grades are falling dramatically and that I skip practically all my classes? I don't think there's even a point in me going to Hogwarts anymore. I'm enough of a failure already, I don't need it to be proven even more by me failing all of my exams.

Don't they notice that I don't seem to even enjoy quidditch anymore?

Don't they notice that I've lost so much weight that I feel like a stick?

Don't they notice that their money is just suddenly disappearing?

Don't they notice that my eyes are red all the time?

Don't they notice my mood swings, my change in personality, my anxiousness, my paranoia, my lack of motivation and that I just don't care about anything any more?

Don't they notice that I NEED help, but just don't WANT it?

Don't they notice that I'm a **DRUG ADDICT**?

Don't they notice ME?

**Fred Weasley**

_They're talking about you again. Saying how pathetic and useless you are. _

_They're watching you again. Ready to see you fail. Don't kidd yourself. They never liked you. _

_You're just the other one. You wouldn't be anything without George. The pranks. The laughter. That's all you're good for. _

_There's no point in you trying to make yourself a better person or shit like that. You're a nobody. A stupid little fool. _

_Without them you wouldn't be anything. You'd just be a pathetic waste of life with no use to anybody. Actually, you are that now. _

I can't wait until I see everyone's faces when they find out about this. The thing that's imaginary to everyone else. But real to me.

The hourly long arguments and discussions I have with them. And days like these. The insults.

They cause the panic attacks I have. It's a miracle I haven't had a panic attack in front of anyone yet. It's probably out of pure luck.

I can just see everybody now. Chasing all those stars. Driving shiny big black cars. And a coffin in the back. Mine.

The **VOICES** will kill me in the end. Unless something else gets the pleasure of doing it first.

**Ginny Weasley**

I shake as I attempt to open the door to go out of my bedroom and into real life. Come on Ginny. Nothing's gonna happen to you. You can do this.

All of your family and friends are there. They'll be worrying about where you are. No one will be able to do anything. No one will be able to do what he did to you.

Come on Ginny. Be brave. No one will be able to hurt you like he did.

You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. I CAN'T DO THIS!

I stumble back onto my bed, shivering, crawl under the quilts and cry. Why does no one notice that something's wrong with me? Why don't they realise that I need help?

I want to understand why he did this to me. I want to understand is it normal for this to happen.

Everyday I see the news, all the problems that we could solve. Way bigger than mine. But, still, I'm a teenager for god's sake! I hadn't even done it before he came along. They shouldn't expect me to know everything!

I want to know why it's affected me so much. I want to know why he **RAPED** me. I want help. PLEASE**.**

**Neville Longbottom**

Got no reason. What reasons do I have for this anyway?

Got no shame. I can't help it. So why should I have any shame about it? I'm not proud of it though.

Got no family I can blame. I mean, I can't exactly blame my grandma for this, can I? I can't blame my parents for this because well, you know, that. And I can't blame anyone else for this either.

No one made me stay awake every night just laying there, waiting for the darknessto consume me. It never does.

No one makes me have so little sleep that I'm used to walking around everywhere feeling like I'm just going through the motions of "living".

No one made me have the same one, every night, without fail, but gets worse every time it happens.

No one made me just stay down in the green house all the time, trying to think of another excuse to tell the professors so I can't go up to the dormitaries and go to sleep.

No one made me have these **NIGHTMARES.**

**Seamus Finnigan**

I touch my newly produced black eye. I flinch as pain rushes through me. Fuck. How am I going to hide this? I'm going back to Hogwarts tomorrow!

Merlin. I REALLY need to master those glamour charms.

It was bad enough Dean seeing the scar on my back in 3rd year! Now he's got even more evidence to believe that something's wrong with me.

No one knows why I never change in front of anyone else. And I'm planning on keeping it that way. The bear bottle marks, the footsteps, the bruises, the cuts, the broken bones and the pain. All placed on my permanently broken skin. Hidden beneath my clothes. All because of something that can't be helped.

It's hard enough trying to get people not to touch me. AT ALL. Not even shake me hands. They've been bent so many times it hurts just to touch something with them. I also HATE when people try to hug me. The scars on me back sear with pain any time someone even lightly touches them.

I just hope they won't let me disappear. I AM going to tell them everything. Someday. Just not right now.

I'm used to them now though. The scars I mean. The emotional and the physical scars.

But that's all they'll ever be to me. Scars. Scars that will fade eventually with time. But the **ABUSE **will still be scars in me memory.

Scars of my past (and present) a permanent reminder for the future.

**Pansy Parkinson  
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Don't need another perfect line. My life's felt like it's been set out and scripted for me since the day I was born anyway.

Don't care if critics ever jump in line. I'm always gonna get judged about anything I do, so, why bother? About that I'm in Slytherin, that my parents are probable Death Eaters, that I'm a bully or that I'm just plain mean. So, what's the point?

No one at school will care anyway. It probably won't come as as shock to a lot of them.

I bet you those Weasel twins have put money on it. That Slytherin slut who's always groping Draco and follows him round like a lost puppy.

It's not Draco's if that's what you're thinking. It was just some random guy I met one night. I couldn't tell you his name even if my life depended on it.

I'm making myself sound like even more of a slut now aren't I? Too bad it's fucking true.

The look on my parents faces when they find out. I'll be dead and gone to them the day after. I won't be any daughter of them after this.

I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do. How am I going to hide this? A bloody** BABY.**

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><p><em><strong>Secret ~ Something that is or is kept secret, hidden or concealed.<strong>_

Everyone has a secret. They can't help it.

From something tiny, like you're the one that ate the last chocolate bar, to something huge, something that could change the world, for better or for worse.

Everyone's has or has had one. It's human nature.

No one knows the reasons we keep secrets.

Some say it's for the excitement. The thrill of knowing something that other people don't. It makes you feel special, that you're the only one that knows it.

Other people say it's because they're ashamed of it. Ashamed to be judged by society on something, in some cases, that they can't help.

No matter the reasons behind keeping the secret, the same thing happens every single time. The secret starts eating you up from the inside, the guilt takes over you, you grow conscious that somebody's found out or is going to find out and then, before you know it, the secret's out and everybody knows it.

No one can keep a secret forever.

So.

What's yours?


End file.
